


Please

by ThatDamnKennedyKid



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst, Dedicated to Danielle, Introspection, Last Moments, M/M, Newt-centric, The Death Cure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 15:04:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatDamnKennedyKid/pseuds/ThatDamnKennedyKid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt's last moments are much like his first: frightening, disorienting and with Alby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please

"Please, Tommy, please."

The world was tilting, his head spinning. Getting lucid was a taxing fight, but  _staying_ lucid was worse. He was quickly drowning in the black-green toxin that his blood had become. 

Thomas looked ready to shatter. The boy was usually so resilient, so powerful given the right moment. Yet, facing this, he was nearly broken. Newt didn't exactly blame him, but he would rather die above the water than sink to the bottom alive. Out of everyone, Newt believed Thomas was the one who could understand that unspoken reasoning. He was clumsier than an arthritic grandmother, but he had sense and intelligence to him the likes of which Newt had never seen. It was what made him powerful, what made him special. 

Those words were special, true. He didn't remember himself before the Maze, and he didn't care to. At this point, what did he care? To waste his last gasps of air on a stranger? Not likely. Thomas would be the one, he would keep it all together, keep them all safe. 

Those words, they would brand Thomas' mind. He knew that. There was no helping it. At least Minho would be there to patch him back together, to hold him when this inevitably broke him down. Minho would kiss him and hold him, keep him sane.

_Not for me._

* * *

When Newt had come up from the Box, he had been more skittish than a startled deer. Alby had to chase him around the Glade several times before he could pin him to the ground, snarling at him for being a shuckface and a nuisance. Newt hadn't understood what that had meant, didn't get the words. He didn't understand the violence and the vehemence. Not until the evening, when the Doors ground out and slammed together, booming in the still nighttime. 

He had woken Alby, shaking and shivering as he was. The older boy just sighed, pulling him close and falling back asleep with the shivering boy in his arms. The strong, steady and fearless heartbeat soothed the lanky boy enough to sleep. Alby didn't mention it come daytime, didn't change how he spoke, what he did. 

At first, Newt assumed it was annoyance. Was Alby pissed that he had slept cuddled into him the night prior? Was he disgusted with Newt's weakness?

Over the months, Greenie after Greenie, Newt noticed the closeness that had grown between them. When Newt collapsed on Alby's bed after a day running the Maze, their leader never said anything about how he wasn't clean or how he had a bed feet away or that Newt's own bed was actually closer. He just returned at sundown and climbed into bed next to him. 

It was after Newt's jump that the walls between them crumbled. 

The older boy never said anything to him, never asked why or told him that he had no reason to jump. Newt figured that he'd seen his fair share of these things, had learned the hard way that tears fix nothing and it was only human nature to try to escape a terrible situation. His disappointment, however, didn't have to be voiced. Newt knew he had screwed up, but his feelings didn't change. He wanted to die. He didn't want to be here, didn't want to wait to get stung by a Griever, didn't want to go through the Changing. 

Yet, in the dead of night, when everyone was asleep and Newt was sleepless, but still, Alby came to him, smoothing his hair, checking his cast and holding his hands. Sometimes, he would voice his thoughts. Tell either the 'unconscious' Newt or the universe just what went through his head. It was during one of these sessions that Alby admitted how much the prospect of possibly losing Newt had been. 

"I never got to- Nah." Alby shook his head. "That's a lie. I had plenty of chances. I never took them. I could have told you every night how much holding you in my arms kept my worries and fears away. I could have told you when you first came and every moment afterward how beautiful you are, how much I admired you, how much I wanted to hug you, kiss you. I could have told you how much you've come to meant to me, how much I need you now. And then . . . then I find you crumpled on the ground. My heart stopped, you shucking fool. I ran all the way there, after I seen you fall, almost ready to climb those vines myself before I realized you were still breathing."

He took a deep breath, squeezing the hand he held. He pulled it up and kissed it gently. 

"All of the opportunities I never took flashed through my mind. Every time I could have hugged you, kissed you, held you, told you I love you. How many times I could have had you moaning under me after a Run. Shuck, how much I've thought about that. You're irresistible, and yet, I managed to keep to myself so well that you never had an inkling that I loved you."

"Good to know."

Alby had almost jumped out of his seat at the scratchy and hoarse voice. "Newt?"

"I love you too, you bloody fool."

No, Alby never asked him why. He understood. And Newt did too. The Maze was not a forgiving place, not a kind one. Alby had hardened himself, settled in for the long haul and braced for impact. From then on, Newt hadn't gotten taken by the gale. He'd huddled in the shelter Alby provided. It had been a safe place. Having Newt behind him gave Alby a reason to stay strong, to fight against the winds and tides. 

And then . . . well. 

* * *

It was suitable, Newt decided, that Alby was his last thought as well as his first. 

Thomas leveled the gun. His eyes, dark and watery, pleaded with him.  _Don't make me do this. Don't_. 

He'd said his piece. There were no more words left in him. None for the living, anyway. Perhaps he would find Alby again, sit with him like they did after he recovered enough to walk, but not enough to Run, and talk in peace. He could tell him all about their adventures, all about the bravery and turmoil and sacrifice and  _happiness_. He could tell Alby that Minho gathered enough courage to finally bed Thomas, to stake his claim. He could recount Chuck's murder, Gally's death, Teresa's betrayal. He could tell their story, once again find a place for him to stay where he wouldn't erode, away from the water he floundered in now. 

He wanted this, as morbid as it was. He'd wanted death for a long time, even though being with Alby had almost made that desire disappear. He didn't need existence. It wasn't essential. The only thing that was had been taken from him, and there was only one way to get it back. 

Thomas shook his head, fighting back the tears with admirable ferocity.  _Don't make me do this. Don't._

_Please, Tommy, please._

The words echoed between them, Newt's eyes beginning to glass over with infection once more. He couldn't stay much longer. 

Thomas' hand shook just in the slightest, his hand clenching around the grip of the gun, cold sweat greasing the trigger. 

The younger boy's eyes were blown wide, unable to break away from the sight. The words would haunt his ears and the sight would sear his eyes.

All at once, his shaking stopped, his body stilling entirely. His whole body seized and his grip stifled the gun, trigger finger ticking down with the seconds. 

_Please, Tommy-_

* * *

_"Thank you."_

 

 


End file.
